


Bittersweet

by nightmoths



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Family Dynamics, Female Harry Potter, Female Harry Potter gets shit done, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Hermione Granger Bashing, Master of Death Harry Potter, Molly Weasley Bashing, Self-Sacrifice, The Deathly Hallows, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Time Travel Fix-It, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22329421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmoths/pseuds/nightmoths
Summary: Amalthea Dorea Potter is furious and lost without her last remaining family member, her godfather Sirius. She grieves and curses those who've wronged her.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 336





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had some thoughts and wanted to type them out to see how they come alive. Thinking of expanding on this. Please let me know what you've thought.

**When** Sirius Orion Black III dies, she is angry and lost without her last remaining family to anchor her. Without the man whom her parent’s trusted to care for her, Amalthea Dorea Potter escapes to Grimmlaud Place and seals the floo of the decrepit ancestral home. She forces Kreacher, in all his hateful spewing, to hand over the wards to her, ridding the order’s access to her deceased godfather’s family home and finally allows herself to grieve. Though it is interrupted when the once screeching and harping portrait of an elderly woman adorned in a lace gown with curled hair is oddly silent; Walburga Black allows the granddaughter of her Aunt Dorea Black-Potter to wallow in pity over the death of her firstborn and heir, Sirius. “I have never been a motherly woman, Potter, and I have tortured and abused my children when we were all alive. Perhaps I was never meant to be a mother but I upheld my family values by marrying Orion and birthing an heir and spare, and my last motherly act to you and to my child Sirius, is in the family library in Black Manor. Bring peace to our families, Amalthea, as it is your duty as a Lady of two noble households.”

Bottle green eyes filled with tears, listens and nods, pulling herself together and holding her head high. She regards the painting for a moment. “I will rewrite what needs to be done, Lady Black.” And she allows herself to believe her words because if she doesn’t, she knows she will break once more.

Amalthea travels to the properties belonging to the Potter families, doing the same as she did in Grimmlaud, sealing the fireplaces and keying only herself into the wards. No one in the order had understood her pain and her anger at losing the handsome yet broken man that had been her last remaining family to live. Why should they be allowed access to her family’s homes? Why should the Weasley’s, in all their brash and embarrassing behavior, try to take over the home of Sirius and his ancient family? Why should Hermoine Granger, the brightest witch of all her age and condescending attitude, try to absorb all the information and research that belonged to her and her godfather’s family when she held no respect for tradition? Why should Severus Snape with his hateful and spiteful actions dare to enter the home that was a sanctuary for Sirius and herself when he taunted them both? Amalthea is forever furious and it shows, in the way she speaks to the house elves belonging to the Potter’s, who all cower under her swirling magic as it twists and gnarls over everything; and if she had been clear minded, she would have protected them and reigned her magic in. She orders the Potter elves to refuse to allow any wizard or witch into any of her homes, tears in her eyes as she thinks of the dead parents and godfather who had all been ripped away from her too soon, as she finishes her work and flees. The stares of the long dead Potter ancestors burning into her back.

She remembers the first goblin to have ever helped her despite their attitude towards witches and wizards, and she never blames them, because so far all magic folk have done is torn creatures and shamed them. She knows Wizards are idiotic as they always forget their precious money is being guarded by the very creatures they try to chain. Gringotts is a beautiful bank, she thinks to herself as she draws herself up to her full height and asks a teller for a goblin named Griphook and Biteshade. He calls for them with a scowl on his pinched face. When she is escorted into a private office with the two goblins she trusts, she waves the wand that mirrored Voldemort’s and the very wand she is sure Dumbledore himself had tricked Ollivander into selling her, setting up silencing wards that had been the creation of Phineas Nigellus Black. She ignores their stares and downturn of lips to take in a deep breath. She relinquishes all rights to the Potter and Black names, signing with her blood but does not let it slip that no one but herself can access the homes. The Potter cottage, she later learned had been gifted to her newly-wed parents by Charlus Potter, where her parents had been killed forever burned in her memories, had been turned into a museum by the corrupt ministry who allowed wizards across Europe to gawk at. She could do nothing but sit by as her parent's things decayed and her early life was displayed for all to see. The ministry had no right and refused to turn the property over to her, forgetting they had overstepped into family political matters, and she took revenge by forbidding anyone to twist her families homes into display cases for entertainment. Griphook is greedy in the way he eagerly helps her while Biteshade frowns but complies with her wishes to transfer all the Black vault monies to undetectable extension charm bags she pulls from her robes with a smile. The Potter monies she has broken down, each going to respective family homes for the elves to stash away. As she walks down the tiled floor of the goblin bank, she smiles as the race of goblins rage at their oldest and perhaps, richest, family money is stripped from their clutches. 

Black Manor is the ancestral home of her grandmother’s birth family and the outside is grand but the inside is cold. Black marble flooring and defensive family magics warping her own, as if they are testing her. The entrance hallway is filled with portraits of members of the family, hundreds of cool grey eyes sharply focused on her. She ignores them as she begins her walk to find Walburga's portrait she does not doubt lies, until she harsh shout of, “Mudblood!” fills her ears. The wand she had rightfully stolen from Albus is quick to point to the decayed frame, belonging to one Cygnus Black who happens to be the father of Bellatrix and she mockingly laughs as she uses a curse to set eternal fire to his painting. “I am Amalthea Dorea Potter, the Lady to the Ancient and Noble homes of Potter and Black and you _will_ respect me! My blood has nothing to do with power, Cygnus, and perhaps you will learn when you realize I have damned your eldest daughter to the lowest fate.” She turns, dismissing the pathetic man, and walks to her true destination. The library belonging to the manor is vast, filled with much knowledge that makes her crave every word, and she suddenly remembers the hateful words Hermoine spat at her, “You are nothing without me. You are too stupid to do anything without me and my knowledge! And where would you be? With Sirius!” Amalthea remembers the harsh punishments she was forced through whenever she did better than Dudley at school and she feels the phantom pains all over her body. She refuses to bow without taking her revenge on those who have ever wronged her and her godfather. It takes hours to search what she is looking for, and she takes trips to Walburga’s portrait in the entrance hallway, who guides her and ignores her deceased family members who spit and rave at her. Amalthea wonders why she is being helped but then when she finds the books she needs, she understands. 

The thick tomes rest heavy in her arms, as she returns to Grimmlaud Place, meeting Kreacher at the bottom of the stairs. She tells him she will be taking him with her and he nods, no longer fighting her. Perhaps he understands what she will be doing or Walburga has explained it to the elf who was forever attached, even in death. 

It is an old ritual, forever in the hands of those with Black blood, and was rarely used. Sirius had mentioned it before, when he had taken it upon himself to educate her with the ‘Pureblood training’ he called it, the man had been a wonderful tutor. Perhaps he had only done it because the decomposing house was killing him and he needed something to do with his time. “I’ve heard muggle students talk of time travel, as if it was no such thing, but Thea, it is real and dangerous. The Blacks have used it twice before, to save the family from damnation as our ancestors recorded each ritual and its outcomes. I think it was for naught.” He had gotten wistful. “I am the last Black male and the Lord who is an escapee from prison. Never have been recognized as lord from magic itself and probably never will. Our ancestors saved us from damnation but did not realize how they damned us by their acts. This family will burn to the ground.” The last Potter clears her mind as she kneels on the ground of the attic of Grimmlaud, spilling her blood to etch runes in the wooden floors, chanting under her breath to willing give her magic to the fates. May the gods damn her soul for such acts but she will not allow her parents and Sirius to go through pain ever again. She will uphold her family values and allow herself to be happy and live with love. 


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I uploaded the first chapter, which was something as a rough draft I suppose but I was pleased by the feedback and during the time, I was writing out this chapter. So here it is, hopefully it isn't as bad as I think it is, so do comment after reading. I'd love to hear each and everyone's thoughts and theories. Thank you.

Amalthea awakes with a gasp due to the harsh jab of a wand digging into her side and a large hand forcing her exhausted body to stand. Her hand instantly flies to her pocket where the elder wand rests as she rears her head and is on instant defense, only to find the owner of the gnarled white-bone wand that digs in her aching side. It’s a man of an imposing figure, around six feet of height and broad masculine shoulders fill her vision. His hair is dark as night highlighted by white strands and falls past his shoulders, pulled back into a severe tie at the base of his neck. His jaw is strong and sharp with high cheekbones, and his narrowed steel eyes framed by crows feet that signify his older age focus on her. His graying mustache is accompanied by a scowl firmly planted on his lips. He’s dressed in a dark charcoal pinstripe suit and a silver pocket watch resting in his waistcoat, and she knows he’s a man of wealth. A man who is not to be crossed. He interrupts her observations and she feels the end of his wand begin to heat, “Who are you, girl? And how did you step foot in my ancestral home?” His voice is gruff and deep, and Amalthea then knows this imposing figure is Arcturus Cygnus Black, the lord and patriarch, and importantly, this is the grandfather of her deceased godfather. 

Her body is on fire and her legs ache but she stands to her full height. It isn’t much, she knows, as five feet is the tallest she’ll ever be thanks to the Dursley’s abuse. But she remembers Walburga’s portrait berating her for her slouched figure and had forced her through lessons on etiquette, despite having long been dead, the woman’s oil painting was formidable. She holds her head high as she gains her bearings and forces her shaking legs to still, her emerald eyes meeting the elder wizard’s. Vaguely, she takes note of the white-blond woman that stands behind the wizard, who stares at her with calculating blue eyes. “I am Lady Amalthea Dorea Potter, the only daughter born to James Charlus Potter and Lily Evans in 1980, the sole heir to houses Potter and Black.” She is truthful, has to be, if she is truly in the past, because she will need this man's help. She stares down the Black lord, as if challenging him to harm her with his wand that has not left her person. There is no need for fear as she knows she cannot fully die; a title of no value which holds a collar around her neck reminds her. 

It is the witch who speaks next, a witch who Amalthea realizes is the grandmother of Sirius and the woman in the portrait she passed by countless times in the cold Black Manor who had been helpful in locating tomes in the family library. “We realize you speak the truth, madame Potter, as wards in our home would have had you thrashing and foaming at the mouth, on our floor.” Melania Black neé MacMillian’s voice is cold but she can detect warmth underneath, and perhaps this is what Sirius meant when he spoke fondly of his deceased grandmother who had a habit for caring for any child she laid eyes upon; pureblood raising be damned. “You are a long way from home, no? So pray tell, why would a young lady such as yourself take part in a ritual that is no doubt illegal and branded the dark arts? I do hope this is not a matter of childish curiosity, as that would be foolish. Though if you are a Potter, as you claim to be, then we are not surprised.”

They are testing her, she understands but refuses to take the bait. She feels Kreacher’s grimy hands tug at her torn and bloodied dress and bats them away. He’s trying to warn her to tread carefully, she knows, but she also knows he does so out of selfish desire to live. If she dies, then he does as well, as he had bonded with her in desperation. He was dying before she did the unthinkable, an elf who was so attached to his late mistress that he’d do anything to see her again, even if it meant latching onto a filthy half-blood’s large magical core. He had no one left to serve but a mudblood and selfishly wanted to live. Amalthea curtseys, to the best of her ability with her arm still clutched by Arcturus, a movement she perfected under Walburga’s harsh glare. She never once takes her eyes off the two before her. “You truly wish to know?” She smiles, a cruel and mocking thing, but she feels no remorse. “I was the only living Potter, and your late eldest grandson’s sole heir, who he named after his death. A half-blood Potter heiress who held the Ancient and Noble House of Black’s fortune and history in her hands! It certainly helped that he blood adopted me, in the long run. Sirius Orion Black the third was named by godfather although he never raised me, as he was falsely accused for my parents deaths and sentenced to twelve years in Azkaban. I did what I had to do, Lady Black, to ensure our family lines would not end the way they did in my timeline.” She bares herself open to the matriarch and patriarch, who watch her with hawk eyes, and she grieves as she talks. 

Melania’s words do not bring shame and embarrassment to her, like they would, had she been naïve and unsure of herself but with the death of the one man she loved as a father-figure, she no longer feels the need to justify her actions to anyone. “Your bloodline ended with Sirius, who died fighting to protect me, his death at the hands of his cousin, who went against the family motto  _ Toujours Pur _ , by kneeling and serving the man who ended the Potter name with just myself living. Lord Voldemort.” Her gaze is unwavering, staring down the two who will decide her fate. “Before his death, Sirius had blood-adopted me and claimed me as his heir, and after his death, I took the liberty in sealing all the Black homes and properties as well as the homes and properties belonging to the Potter’s. Time travel is tricky and should be left alone, but I could not handle the betrayal and deceit any longer.” She does not mention that she holds the entire family fortune in a bag located in the dimension pocket of her dirtied robes. “Many have wronged Sirius and I; him being framed and locked away inside the cold walls of Azkaban and I, shoved inside a cupboard for most of my childhood. No one made an effort to help us and damned us to misery. Once he was taken from me, Walburga Black’s portrait informed me that I needed to ensure our families would prosper and not fall to one last living member as it did before.”

Arcturus watches as the young woman shakily standing speaks, watches the way her eyes are glossed and her lips turn in pain. He grasps that his family ended with his eldest grandson, who in a fit of love had adopted this girl with his sacred blood and declared her his sole heir, before being killed at the end of his cousin’s wand. It shocks him to his core; it is unheard of for a fellow Black to kill another. While it is true, their family is full of dark cores and the infamous black madness, no secret that all members of his family take sick pleasure in hurling hexes and curses to another but to kill? This is another thing entirely. Such actions would have him, as patriarch, to strip the family member of their family magics; damning them to hours of excruciating pain and a slow drawn death. It is surprising to hear that Walburga, the only daughter to his cousin Pollux and the dreadful Irma Crabbe, willingly helping a half-blood is shocking. Perhaps she knew, in her old age, blood did not matter if their family’s legacy rested in the palms of a Potter. “You say my grandson had been imprisoned in Azkaban, why? And how did he leave? Once a witch or wizard is charged to a sentence in that prison, it is unheard of for them to be released.”

“Sirius was never released. He was an unregistered animagus, like my father and their mates in hogwarts. Due to starvation in that hell, his animal form was all fur and bones which allowed him to escape.” Amalthea does not allow her eyes to leave Arcturus’, staring him down as she speaks and allows the tight walls in her mind to drop. A risky move, allowing a stranger to enter her intimate mind, but she knows she needs his help. “He fed on rats to survive, he lived off rodents to ensure I was protected, although my home life ensured I was not. Sirius tried, but his blind faith in Dumbledore skewed his thoughts, but we were family. We only had each other and Grimmlaud was killing him, Walburga’s painting continued to spit at him even after death and Kreacher caused him irritation. His mind, I know now, was never fully matured and forever broken by the prolonged exposure of the dementors. But he was fed and had the chance to bathe as he pleased, even if he was isolated to his childhood home because he was a wanted man.” She’s rambling, she knows, but she can’t help but talk about the man she loved and mourned. From the corner of her eye, she watches as Melania places a hand on her bosom in surprise and Arcturus lower his wand. She feels his attempt to enter her mind and then his success. She welcomes him, allows him to see what she lived and what she did to ensure she could live her life without grief and pain. She allows him to see Sirius in his childish glee and happiness of being free from that damned place, allows Arcturus to  _ understand _ her and why she did what she did. 

The first thing Arcturus Black sees is a thin child being striked across her cheek before being shoved into a confined cupboard. He watches as the child grows in an emotional and physically abusive home until she receives her hogwarts letter. The joy and understanding on her face is clear; she realizes there are others like her who can do what she can and she’s not alone. The father and grandfather in him is proud when he watches her small body light with happiness as she’s sorted into gryffindor and receives praise. Though he feels the emotion of protectiveness as he watches her school years fly by in a flurry of dangerous and harmful adventures; just what had Dumbledore allowed into the school? A prophecy of this young woman? The elderly wizard had raised her like a pig for slaughter and sent her to countless battles that risked her safety, as if she had the training and knowledge to defeat a claimed dark lord who had years of knowledge under his belt. She survived due to pure luck and he is impressed by her quick thinking and sharp tongue. Arcturus feels grief as he sees his grandson, who is currently only sixteen and under the heavy weight of his mother’s wand and his father’s expectations, is a scruffy escapee of azkaban and he watches as Sirius fights to protect his beloved goddaughter only to be pushed into the wispy tendrils of the Veil of Death by Bellatrix Black’s wand. Reluctantly, he leaves the poor girl’s mind and grimaces as he meets his wife’s questioning eyes. “She speaks true and has the memories to back her claims. Unfortunately, Potter, you have access to our many family homes and ancestral manor due to his blood in your veins and thus we cannot allow you to leave.” He ignores the relief in her shining eyes, “You have to understand that our grandson, Sirius, is only sixteen in this timeline. He is just a child and not the man you associate with in your memories. He is my claimed heir; Orion is too brash to be the lord of this family and I fear he’d allow Walburga’s beliefs to cloud his actions.”

Melania cuts in with acid in her voice. “That wretched woman has warped our son’s mind! Walburga is a harpy of a woman and Sirius the Second was foolish in their union! He allowed his brother Cygnus and Pollux to persuade him into marrying off our son to Irma’s hell spawn.” Apparently, it is no secret Melania Black hates Irma Black with her very being if Arcturus’ casual posture had anything for Amalthea to go by. The witch walks forward to place a kind hand on Amalthea’s arm with a sigh. “You must know how she’s like, yes? Sirius and Regulus, we heavily suspect, has been tortured under her wand since childhood. It is not our place as grandparents to interfere in our son and his wife’s parenting but as the heads to the Black family, we will step in to cast her from this house. I looked into your mind alongside my husband and I know you loved our eldest grandson with your very being, so we will do our best to aid you in your efforts. You carry our surname and this makes you family; we stick together.” The elder witch smiles and pats the girl’s arm before stepping back with a snap of her fingers. A pop echoes through the room and a small house elf stands wearing a black knitted dress. 

“Mistress calls for Navni?” The small thing’s voice was high pitched as it tugged nervously on the tea towel in its hands. 

“Yes, Navni dear, please make a room in the west wing for our guest here. As well as assigning a job to our lovely guest’s elf, Kreacher. He must be given a uniform without the family crest and show where to…freshen up, so to speak.” Melania smiles down at her personal elf with warm eyes. Unlike Walburga, the sole Potter notices, she is kind to the elves that helps run her household. 

Amalthea once again bats the demented elf’s hands from her body and stares him down, glowing green reflected in beady black eyes the size of tennisballs. She realizes he is old and wrinkled like a raisin; the damned townhouse was slowly killing him too. It always surprised her that he didn’t just fall over and die alongside his mistress. “You will follow the orders given to you by the house elves of this manor, Kreacher, or you should find yourself receiving punishment if you disobey. Give thanks to Lady Black.” Once upon a time Amalthea Potter would have baulked for ordering a house elf around but she doesn’t give much a damn about the elf who gave her godfather a harsh time in his final days. She remembers Dobby and wishes she could have taken him with her but Kreacher knew far too much to linger behind and Dobby was never hers despite his fierce loyalty. Her lips curl back in a snarl as the ugly little thing dares to grunt at her and the Lady Melania before popping away with the elf Navni. She apologizes for the elf’s behavior but both Arcturus and his wife wave it away. 

“We know what Walburga’s damn elf is like and it’s no surprise he had gotten worse after her death.” Arcturus surprises her by chuckling, the lines by his eyes more defined as he does so. He looks youthful but she knows better, older wizards will always look young until they hit their hundred’s and this man in his mid seventies is the same. “Though we cannot allow the two Kreacher’s to meet. You must have your elf take a vow that is unbreakable, we can’t risk anyone finding out your identity and how you’ve gotten here. It will stain both yourself and us.” 

To Amalthea, she understands they are giving her their permission to stay and to be protected under their thumbs, she bows her head in respect. “I am thankful, Lord and Lady Black,” and she is because she doesn’t know what she would have done without them. Do not get her wrong, she had contingency plans if they did not agree and turned her away, but her plans would be difficult to follow through with if they ultimately decided she was not the effort. Without them, she would be lost and would struggle making connections. “May I inquire why you both are so accepting of me and my choices?” 

It’s Melania who answers. Her arctic voice is gone and what’s left is kindness. “You are the same age as our Sirius, a version of the man you cherished, you are just a child doing her best to make sure her families are taken care of. You never had anyone to guide you until our grandson was by your side, we saw this, and we will be here to help aid you.” Then the witch’s blue eyes are sharp as she suddenly inspects Amalthea’s form, humming under her breath and clicking her tongue as she does so. “It’s a wonderful thing Walburga’s portrait taught you etiquette lessons and Sirius took it upon himself to tutor you from languages, history, blood magic and politics. Sirius may hate being Arcturus’ heir but his lessons are needed and he is an attentive student.” 

Arcturus nods at his wife’s words, his lips pursed as he thinks. “Sirius is being trained to become Lord Black after I either step down and hand the mantle over or die, by his father Orion. It’s no secret Walburga prefers their second son, Regulus, as Sirius is childish and refuses to uphold our values. Though I believe that woman has filled his head with nonsense and lies on how an heir and future lord of our house should act and the beliefs we stand for.” His gray eyes watch her closely and her skill crawls, “Your Potter blood will not help you here, as the current Lord Charlus has renounced his family values by siding with Albus Dumbledore, and has made many enemies.”

Amalthea Dorea Potter considered herself a witch with a gray core. Her magical core did not take to the claimed ‘light’ spells Hogwarts strictly used and learned why she always had trouble performing in her lessons at school. The House of Potter was full of gray witches and wizards, with the occasional member possessing a dark warped core, and learned this fact had stemmed from simple family genes and the intent used to cast spells. It did not surprise her when Dumbledore showed disappointment as her core came to his attention; she was not what he wished and not the lamb he sent to be raised to believe he was a god-like figure. She was an intelligent witch who was drawn to dark spells and illegal arts, eager to learn from the restricted section that somehow Severus Snape allowed her to do so; she was known to be gentle and warm, yes, but possessed a vindictive streak a mile long and was ferociously possessive of what she considered hers and held no qualms about harming others. The Potter’s main manor, named Mors Hall after the famed Peverell brothers, held portraits of all family members recorded on the tapestry. The past Lords and Ladies were content with their last living member and taught her their history with open arms. Charlus Potter, the head before her late father James and her paternal grandfather, was disliked among many of his family members for turning his back on their sacred rituals used to give thanks to magic and for allowing Dumbledore to gain access to their Wizengamot seats and have control of their wards. When Amalthea learned of this, she was disgusted that anyone would allow a non-family member to control anyone’s birth right as Charlus had done and quickly removed Albus Dumbledore from all property wards and banned him and his precious order from Grimmlaud. 

Melanie regarded the young witch with calculating eyes before speaking directly to her husband. “In order for her origins to remain a secret, Arcturus, she must be blood-adopted. There is no way around it, her Potter blood is evident in her nest of hair and those awful glasses!” The elder witch turns to address the young woman, who was still covered in sweat and grime, clicking her tongue in dissatisfaction. “Many purebloods will preserve phials of blood of the members of their house, even after death, under a stasis charm. These phials are used to either legitimize children to add to families, as purebloods are now known to dwindle in numbers, or to be used in rituals during Samhain to call upon certain members. This is no secret among the circle of the sacred twenty-eight.” The elder witch’s almond eyes were expressive as she thought. “An acquaintance of ours remains childless, even after being married for fifteen years now to a witch of the Rosier family. Corvus Lestrange happens to be a confidant of Arcturus’ and someone to be trusted with secrets, as he is tight lipped. A potion master, he is, and developed his own resistance to veritaserum.”

Arcturus continued after his wife trailed off, placing his wand in the sleeve of his suit jacket before offering his arm to the exhausted young witch. Once his arm was taken by the apprehensive young woman, the head of the family began to escort their guest and wife from the receiving parlor where she had arrived quite unexpectedly. “Lord Corvus is not the lord of the Lestrange family, rather the brother to Lord Cygnus who’s twin sons, Rodolphus and Rabastan, hold the mantle of heirs. Because of this, should Corvus agree to blood-adopt you, you would become a member of their family but not heiress. Cygnus would not be a beneficial father figure for you as he is often absent in his sons lives and is said to have poisoned his wife once she bore two sons per their marriage contract, and he is generally disliked by our family. Corvus on the other hand would never forbid you from seeking guidance and shelter under our roof, should you feel the need to...overlook...Sirius. He is rather laid back compared to his younger brother who received the lordship but is an excellent dueler! You would do to be tutored under him.” 

“But first, dear, you must wash up and dress in suitable attire. You must be feeling slightly after your travel.” Melania blandly smiled as she interrupted her husband with no shame, easing the attentive witch into her arms as they walked down the west wing of the large manor. “Come, you will be staying in a room in our guest wing and will be served the finest tastes! Your kreacher will be serving you but our elves will as well, though it’s Kreacher’s duty to serve you as his master, and do not forget to ensnare him in an unbreakable vow soon. We do not need him reaching Walburga.” 

Amalthea listened with attentive ears and nodded during appropriate times, showing she was following along even as she allowed Lord Arcturus to escort her. Though his help was more of her leaning her body weight on his as exhaustion began to seep into her bones. She was weary as they spoke of the Lestrange family’s lord and brother, knowing next to nothing of the French family Bellatrix married into but was pleasantly surprised that she would hold no title as heiress; this meant she would not be expected to marry a Lord and birth his heir and an heir for the family she would be adopted in to. “I thank you both for your hospitality and your helpfulness, I’m unaware if I can contribute to your house but I will do my best to stop the events that led to the end of your bloodline.” As her emerald eyes peered around the corridors she was led down, she noticed that Black Manor never really changed from past or present, from its black marble floors to the magic infused walls and indistinguishable whispers of paintings who never seemed to quiet. The demand in the last sentence from Lady Black was clear to Amalthea’s ears and vaguely replied a simple response, her mind racing in how she would word a vow to ensure the demented elf would not cross her. Perhaps she would need Arcturus’ help. Sirius had informed her during her lessons that his grandfather had been the family Lord and served on the wizengamot until his dying breath, which meant the elderly wizard knew how to speak and demand without loop holes to be found in his words. Something she would need in order to trap Kreacher into never returning to his former mistress’s side. 


End file.
